Loud Pipes Rule
love good,
snorty exhaust.I could give one rat's ass about dyno this and speculum that. It feels like I get to top speed just as fast as I ever did.
I love to hear the motor. The exhaust note grumbling, snarling, screaming, burbling. all those noises. I love 'em.
I love the flat snap that a BMW flat twin has with conti replicas or the booming note of peashooter, soundin' like Llowell George growling his way through "Mercenary Territory" backed up by the Tower of Power horn section.
I didn't build or buy my bikes for anyone but me. I made it like that because I like it like that. I love the way sounds, smells, feels, tastes.
Give BMWs a bad name? How the hell can I give a brand of motorcycle any worse of a reputation than being the choice bike of stiff necked, narrow minded, butt cheek clenched, anal-rententive old fart assholes? By riding the BMW with abandon and joy with a "fuck you" sneer on my kisser, I deliver unto the BMW a taste of black leather cool it never had.
Don't like it? tough. I didn't make the thing for you. The bike and I do not exist to please you.
don't go shaking your knobby old finger in my face. I'll bite the sucker off and spit it back at you.
So just back off, get on your bike and go ride. That's right, I said ride, punky.
But no. You'll scamper over to your little flock of "like minded individuals" an oxymoron if there ever was one, and you'll all ruffle your feathers and cluck gravely at eachother.
Age is a state of mind. not a number.
6/4/2001
Text copyright 2002 Michael
Hazen. All Rights Reserved.
Some Images borrowed from the internet.
Direct any concerns to:
ME